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“Daisy was right, you know?” Helen’s telltale creaking sounded around Jon’s office, the way it always did when she entered a small space. The Archivist was at his desk, hands tugging frustratedly at his kinky curls, eyes fixed shut.
“I’m sure I don’t want to ask what about.” Jon muttered under his breath, though it hardly escaped Helen’s notice. She’d always had sharp ears.
She rolled her eyes, arms crossed and purse slung over her shoulder. “With the moping! Seriously, Archivist, even if you’re trapped in an eternal library prison with no escape, you could still have some fun. Christ, if anything I’d think the never-ending work would provide a little motivation!”
Jon lifted his head from where he’d been pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes to glare at her, and hey, Helen considered that progress! Even if getting acknowledged by the Beholding wasn’t the most pleasant of sensations. “I don’t recall asking what you think, Helen.”
She flapped a sharp hand at him dismissively, which had him flinching back on instinct before collecting himself. “Are you getting any work done, or are you just sitting here being capital-L Lonely?” His silence spoke volumes. Eventually Jon sighed and sank back in his chair, Helen’s cue to cross the room and sit on his desk. “That’s what I thought! Now, what do you want to do? I have a metric ton of board games, and none of them make any sense.”
Jon groaned, pinching the sharp bridge of his nose. “How many of them are going to put a curse on me if I lose?”
Helen honestly hadn’t expected real consideration this fast, and she couldn’t help but twist up the corner of her mouth in a grin. Poor thing really must be desperate! “Only a few! Pinky promise I’ll pick one of the ones that won’t.” Jon looked considerably disquieted at the idea of actually pinky-promising with Helen and her hands, not that she’d actually been planning on asking in the first place.
“Do you have chess?”
Of course she had chess! What did he take her for! Helen reached into her purse to root around for her chess set, which fit inside the tiny bag even though it definitely shouldn’t have. She produced it eventually, setting it between them and grinning triumphantly. “The pieces will change every time you make a move. Are there smoke detectors in here?”
“Sounds manageable— what?” Jon was squinting at her in mild confusion.
“I asked if there were smoke detectors in here, Archivist. Try to keep up.” She was already back to digging into her purse for the colorful, spiraling glass pipe and jar of pot she’d acquired a few months ago.
“Where did you get that? And no.”
“I took a— um, what’s the word—“
“Stoner?” Jon offered, deadpan. Helen snapped her fingers and grinned at him.
“Look at you, madame knowledge!” Jon seemed almost amused at the title, the corner of his mouth curling in spite of itself. “Yes, I took a stoner into my domain a while back. He had this darling pipe in his apartment when I collected him,” she held it up for emphasis, because it really was quite pretty, “and I thought, what’s the point of having a pipe if I don’t have anything to smoke!”
“Seems out of character for you to think there needs to be a point to anything.”
Helen snickered, covering her mouth daintily with her hand. “You’ve caught me, Archivist. I just thought it would be fun!”
“Yes, I suspected. Have you ever actually…?” Jon seemed unwilling to finish his sentence.
“As a human? No, Helen Richardson was a bit of a tightass, if I’m being honest. As of recently? Very often!” If there was anything that Helen imagined could enhance the experiences of being inside her corridors, it was mind altering substance abuse. She was hoping to hunt down some mushrooms at some point in the near future. “You?”
“A few times in college, yes.”
“Really? Marijuana in librarian school? Bad Archvist!”
It was Jon’s turn to chuckle softly, “Clearly you haven’t met many librarians.”
Helen hummed, giggling to herself. “I suppose you’re right about that. So, smoking and chess, do we have a date? Or would you prefer to sit here Alone in your chair, mourning lost love?” She clasped her hands over her chest for a touch of Shakespearean dramatics. Jon narrowed his eyes and glared.
“Lost love? I’m certain I don’t know what you mean.” His face was flushed and he was refusing to meet her gaze. Helen rolled her eyes in a full circle.
“God, you are the worst liar!” She widened her eyes and fluttered her lashes dramatically. “Oh, Martin, please talk to me, every moment spent away from you is eternal agony! You’re a real Romeo.”
“It’s not like that.” Jon replied through gritted teeth, getting progressively redder. “And if it were, it wouldn’t be any of your business.”
“Sure,” Helen drew out the word, smug and entirely unconvinced, “now, are we building our friendship, or would you prefer to keep sulking?”
“We aren’t friends, Helen. You’re a hellish fear monster.”
Helen actually cackled at that, gesturing between the two of them with a pointed finger. “Pot, meet kettle. Stop avoiding the question.”
With an absurdly dramatic sigh, Jon lidded his eyes and leaned back again. “Sure. What the hell.”
“That was astonishingly easy. I get the colorful pieces!” Half of the chess pieces had become a wide assortment of colors after their time spent in Helen’s domain, the other half remaining black. She supposed the game had to stay playable somehow.
Jon was retrieving the webbed lighter Helen had seen him use a few times from his desk drawer and passing it to her while she packed the bowl of the pipe. “Fine by me.”
Twenty minutes in, Helen was discovering that Jon was far better at chess than she was. It just had so many rules, hard to conform to when the very idea of rules went so distinctly against her nature. It was alright by her though, she hadn’t come here to win. Besides, this far in she had also discovered that the Archivist was much more pleasant to talk to when he was high. He’d only taken a few hits of her pipe, after quite a lot of peer pressure, but she could tell he was much calmer than he had been for weeks.
He’d taken off his jumper, saying the texture of the fabric was irritating his skin. Helen had giggled, and taken one of his pawns.
When they were taking a break after their first round of chess and Jon was taking his fourth hit, he’d rested his cheek on his hand and sighed wearily.
“What troubles your anguished heart, Archivist?”
Jon scoffed, shaking his curls. “Oh, I don’t know, everything?” He took another hit from the pipe and stretched in his chair. “Think Lukas is getting to me.”
“Think about it like this, if you’re hanging out with me, it’s probably pissing him off! I mean, I’m probably the only person in this building who doesn’t at least kind of want you dead!”
“Not helpful, Helen.”
She rolled her neck languidly, pouting. “Oh, well I suppose if I’m so unhelpful, I’ll just go back to my hallways and leave you to cry yourself to sleep all alone in your sad little cot.” She paused for effect, “Again.”
“Fuck off.”
“What? It’s true!” She giggled when Jon’s shoulders slumped, conceding. The Archivist tipped his head over the back of his chair and sighed.
“I miss him, Helen.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed. Perhaps you should stop that?”
He tipped back forward to bury his head in his arms, folded on his desk. “I don’t know what I expected.”
“From me or from him?”
“Both?” He looked up at her from under lidded eyes, peeking out from messed curls that fell far into his face.
“I suppose that’s fair, I was never the best at comfort when I was human. And now, well,” Helen chuckled, “it’s hardly my job to make an avatar of the Beholding feel better.” She adjusted her glasses and crisscrossed her legs under her, shoes kicked off onto the floor. “As for Martin, I really don’t know what you expected either.”
“Just didn’t expect to lose him like this, I suppose.” Jon murmured, pained and quiet.
Helen traced a spiral into the knee of her tights, humming. “Would you rather he died?”
Frantically, Jon shook his head before he dropped it back onto his arms. “I think I’d rather I did.”
“I thought that too, at first, but hey, look how much fun I’m having now!”
Jon squeezed his eyes shut beneath his hair before replying, “Well I’m glad you’re happy.”
“Thank you!” Jon glared at her as if she hadn’t caught onto his sarcasm, and she grinned back. There was a knock at the (actual) door, and their heads turned in sync. Jon glanced at the chess and smoking paraphernalia between them, before shrugging.
“It’s just Daisy, I doubt she’ll care.” He murmured to himself, before raising his voice, “Come in.”
Sure enough, the door opened to reveal the broad woman, who stared between the two of them and then at the contents of the desk, and snickered. “Seems like you two are having fun.”
“I’m sure it must seem like that, yes.” Jon said dryly.
At the same time, Helen said, “We are! I was just about to ask the Archivist if he wanted to make out with me.”
Jon snapped his head to stare incredulously at her. “Were you seriously?”
The very picture of innocence, Helen smiled down at him from her spot on his desk. “Yes.”
“Ok, well, no.” He gave her a look that said I’d have to be far more inebriated.
Helen covered the side of her mouth to stage whisper at Daisy, “He’s pining.”
Daisy grinned, crossing her arms and raising a brow at Jon, who had punched Helen in the arm. “I’m sure. Well, I would join, but I just came by to drop off some lunch.” She gestured to the files tucked under her arm, then at Jon. “Helen, when you smoke do you want to kidnap someone else for your halls more than usual?”
“She does and she has.” Jon replies curtly.
“Good to know he doesn’t just do that to me.” Daisy chuckled.
“When I do it to you it’s by accident. But I have no qualms with doing it to Helen on purpose.”
Helen raised her hand to her heart and gasped, faux-offended. “You wound me, Archivist!”
Daisy was chuckling as she crossed the room to set the files on the mess that was Jon’s desk. “Invite me, next time you guys do this. It’s nice to see you relax a little, Jon.”
“There will be no next time, thank you, Daisy.”
“Fine, fine, I understand that stick getting dislodged from your ass is a once-in-a-blue-moon occasion. Helen, come to me next time.”
Helen winked at her, grinning. “Will do.”
Once the door was shut behind Daisy, Helen returned her focus to Jon with an amused smile. “Now that she’s gone, do you want to make out with me?”
Jon hid his head in his hands, flushed. “The answer is very much still no, Helen.”
“Fine.” Helen huffed, crossing her arms and looking at the door Daisy had left through. “I bet Daisy would make out with me.”
“And I will be exceedingly happy for you both if she does.” Jon deadpanned.
The pair of them reset the chess board for a second round, ending up playing another two, both of which Jon won. It was around eleven by the time they’d finished, and Helen yawned.
“I see more board games in our future, Archivist.”
“I’m sure you do. I’m going to bed.”
“Mm,” Helen stretched catlike when she stood from the desk. “probably wise. Night night, Archivist. Rest well, dream of estranged assistants and all that.”
Jon, very sleepily, gave her the finger. Helen thought she could almost see tears brimming in the corner of his eyes.
She felt great, when she returned to her hallways. Helen Richardson had always liked having someone to feel better than, and Helen The Distortion Richardson found that she enjoyed it even more.
Jon was just so pathetic. Like an infinite source of schadenfreude. A wet cat with frizzy hair. Besides, she’d decided getting people on drugs was an effective way to serve the Spiral without eating them, so it was two birds with one stone. Personal ego boost, and her patron couldn’t get too irritable with her.
In some sentimental way, she was almost rooting for him and Martin. Probably because it was just so delightfully hopeless. She hadn’t been in this business very long, but she seemed to have gotten some base knowledge when she took over from Michael, and she heard the Lonely was a difficult thing to get away from. If she didn’t think it would help Forsaken out, she’d be tempted to start a rumor that Martin and Lukas were fucking, just to see the look on Jon’s face when someone let it slip. But out of all the powers she was even the slightest bit inclined to assist, the Lonely was not one of them. It just seemed so boring, so straightforward.
No matter. She’d just have to find out how high she’d have to get Jon to cajole him into embarrassing himself, and that’d be enough for her.